Perfect Lie(47)

“It’s fine. Really.” I glanced away from Abel’s questioning gaze.

Abel leaned in toward my free ear, his lips brushing over it and his breath tickling me as he whispered, “What are we doing Friday?”

I put my finger to my lips to tell him to be quiet and pushed back against his chest.

“Is that him?” he asked.

My eyes widened in warning. He took another drink as I smiled.

“You have company?” Marie asked. “Did I call at a bad time?”

“No. Just my roommate’s boyfriend.” I glared at him, and he headed into the living room and sat down on the center cushion then turned up the volume on the television. “I’ll call you if I need you. I’m fine. I swear.”

“All right. You have my number.” She hung up, and I groaned. Marie was probably the most unprofessional therapist on the planet, but I liked that about her. She didn’t have kids of her own, and she liked to mother me, which was kind of nice, even though it could be annoying as hell. I tossed my phone onto my bed then went to the living room and sat back down on the couch in the same spot I’d occupied before. Abel adjusted himself so that we were once again pressed side to side.

“He has trust issues, huh?”

“Huh?”

“I get it. If there was a guy like me walking around my girl’s house, I probably would lose my mind too.”

It sunk in that he thought I’d been talking to Brock, and I didn’t correct him. What was I supposed to say? That my overbearing therapist likes to call me randomly and tell me about her life?

“And what kind of guy is that?”

Abel ignored me as he picked up the remote and flipped through the movie channels. He stopped on a scary movie that was showing a man getting stabbed in the shoulder as blood sprayed across the screen. I cringed and curled closer into his side.

“You scared?” He smirked as his arm went over my shoulders.

“I’m not a fan of violence.” I tried to focus on the television and not the places where our bodies touched; the closeness sent waves of heat through his shirt, which I still wore.

“Aw…I won’t let them come through the screen and get you,” he replied sarcastically, and I smacked him lightly on the chest as I settled into his side. The killer wiped the blood from his blade on his shirt and set off toward a home in the woods that vaguely reminded me of Abel’s work in progress. He was met by three guys in varsity jackets who challenged him to a fight in their inebriated state. I turned my head, hiding my face against Abel’s neck, my knees turned to the side on his lap.

“What’s happening?” I asked, as I breathed in the scent of his Polo Sport.

“Jock number one took a knife to the jugular,” he said with a laugh, as his free hand fell on my bare knee on his lap. “Number two is putting up a fight, but he’s doing it all wrong. He’s…aw…come on.”

“What happened?”

“I think he just lost his football scholarship. Number three swung and missed. He’s trying to run. Ohhh!” He yelled, causing me to jump. “He didn’t make it.” His thumb tapped against my skin, and my heart beat in time with his absent‐minded touch.

“Can I look?” I started to turn my head, but Abel’s fingers came up and turned my cheek back into the crook of his neck.

“I don’t think you want to see this part.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

Abel cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat as his hand went back to my leg. “He’s gonna kill a couple on the couch.”

“What’s happening?” I asked, and I felt his body shiver slightly as my breath blew over his neck.

“They’re making out.” His voice was a quiet whisper as I felt his pulse increase under my fingertips. “He’s…” He cleared his throat. “Sliding his hand up her thigh.” His thumb glided lightly back and forth over the inside of my knee. “The killer is watching from inside the doorway. Her eyes are closed, and the guy’s slipping his hand under her skirt.” His face moved a fraction of an inch until our cheeks were pressed against each other’s and his hot breath blew over my ear. I heard the panting and the quiet moans from the movie, and I contemplated turning to watch, but I was frozen against Abel, oddly enjoying his play by play of the scene and not sure seeing it for myself would do anything to make this situation any less intense. “She likes it,” he whispered.

“Yeah?” I whispered back, my voice coming out breathy.

“Yeah.” His fingers gripped my lower thigh more tightly.

“What are they doing now?” I asked, as my hand slid up from his chest to the side of his neck.